Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

Reverend Hayden suggested he visit the nursing home alone, having to make a trip himself to the monastery to make final arrangements for his arrival. On the drive across town, Nathan worried about being too distracted— about running into Elizabeth. Seeing her was inevitable, though. If not today, some day soon. There would be no avoiding it. Whether she would want to speak with him, after such a long time without any communication save secondhand reports from Josh Everson, was another question.

He closed the old woman’s Bible and unconsciously ran his hand across its familiar, threadbare cover. When she had asked him to choose the reading earlier, Nathan picked the opening chapters of Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians. His parents had often read scriptures aloud to him when he was younger, so they never complained when Mrs. Conan did the same when he was in her care. Nathan remembered many afternoons in her living room, eating oatmeal raisin cookies while she occasionally read short passages for the sheer joy of sharing in the Word with such an eager audience of one. When Nathan was old enough to stay home alone while his mother was out, he would still wander up the road now and then to visit. She always seemed pleased to see him, to discuss and debate passages from the same Bible Nathan now held in his hand—less worn and frayed back then, but not by much.

If he was ever asked when his calling to the ministry first occurred, Nathan could think of no stronger moments than those afternoons in Mrs. Conan’s living room, eating cookies.

He felt moved to explain this to her, but she suddenly looked past him toward the door, smiled wider and said, “Looks like you have a caller, Nate.”

Nathan turned, already knowing who was there.

Elizabeth O’Brien looked exactly as he remembered. There was a more determined set to her face, one that came with the level of maturity they both had reached over the past five years. The face still had the round, cherub-like quality which never failed to pull him to her. She wore jeans and sneakers, a blue pullover sweater and a pinned name tag that read “Elizabeth O.” She was tall, not quite his own height, but taller than the average woman, with the slightly-rounded figure of someone always fighting off extra pounds, winning some but never all of the battles. Her blonde hair was as thick and unruly as ever.

The smile on her face filled his heart with an unexpected happiness.

“Hi,” she said, and stuck her hands in her jeans’ pocket. All she would have to do, Nathan thought, would be to lean her shoulder casually against the door frame and she’d look—to use an expression Josh Everson was overly fond of using— way too cool .

“Hi,” he said, knowing it was the lamest response he could have given. Mrs. Conan’s thin hand nudged his arm. He looked back. She nodded in the direction of the door and said with a sly grin, “Bye, Nate.”

Chapter Eighteen

The coffee in the employee break room was surprisingly good. Nathan took another sip as Elizabeth returned from the vending machine with a can of ginger ale. She sat next to him at the small table, not in the seat opposite as he’d expected.

His head was spinning. He wished it would stop.

Nathan wondered if maybe his feelings for this woman were still as strong as ever. The thought brought a jolt of pain, not a physical hurt but a wrenching ache of the heart which revealed itself as a nervous rumble in his belly. He couldn’t love her. He was a minister and she was a self-proclaimed atheist. No, he never truly believed that last part, not with five years to replay that infamous conversation in his mind. She simply did not want to believe.

Don’t press , an inner voice said. It was sage advice, and the thought sobered him.

She said, “I thought Reverend Hayden wasn’t leaving until next week.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. I think he’s making me try out my sea legs. How did you know when he was leaving?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Mrs. Conan keeps up on all the gossip. She shares it with me whether I want to hear it or not.”

It occurred to him that Mrs. Conan must have known about his episode Sunday. Since the first thing out of Elizabeth’s mouth wasn’t How are you feeling? his old neighbor probably hadn’t mentioned it. God bless that woman .

He asked, “Are you a nurse now?”

She nodded and looked down at her soda can. “I finally went back to school and finished up. Couldn’t let you have more degrees than me.”

Reflexively, Nathan said, “Yeah, but I’m ordained as well. Technically that means I’m one up on you diploma-wise.”

She laughed and said, “They give a diploma for that?”

“Well, they give us,” he made a box-like gesture with his two hands, “a thingy. You know, whatever they’re called.”

“Certificate?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said.

A short black woman, hair pulled tightly back into a bun, poked her head and shoulders into the break room. “Lizzie, Mr. Gansky needs some... oh, hello,” she said, seeing Nathan.

Elizabeth, whose comfortable smile never wavered, swept her arm with a small flourish. “Serena, meet Nate. Oh, sorry, I mean Reverend Nathan.”

“Ooh, so this is the—”

“I’ll be right there,” Elizabeth interrupted, her composure at last broken. Her neck flushed red. “Sorry, Nate. Got to see what Mr. G. wants.”

They stood at the same time. “That’s OK.” He hesitated, and hoped Serena, as nice as she seemed to be, was no longer there. “Seeing you again was, um, really great.”

Elizabeth began to speak, caught herself, then sighed. She stepped forward, hesitantly; then the two embraced in a gentle, quiet hug.

So much time had passed since he’d held her like this. The sensation of her in his arms felt strange. No, he realized, not strange. It felt new . They were two different people, now.

In that moment, he was certain of one thing. He did still have feelings for her. Strong feelings. If he had his doubts before, now they were no more.

Another dilemma to deal with in the little town of Hillcrest.

They reluctantly parted from the embrace, and Elizabeth was again flustered.

She put her open soda into the refrigerator and dumped his half-finished cup of coffee in the sink. “Maybe we can get together some place where we can talk more than just a few minutes,” she said.

“I’d like that.” His heart was racing. He needed air. This wasn’t a good idea.

She walked beside him into the hall. He began to reach for her hand, but caught himself. That would be too intimate. When they reached the front doors, she looked sideways at him. He caught the gaze, and as usual, something unspoken passed between them. They both began to laugh at the same time.

“Look at us,” she said.

He reached over and this time did take her hand. “Look at us.”

“What about Saturday?”

“Sure,” he said, then released her hand to reach for something in his sport coat. “Wait. Have to check. The pastor’s had a pretty full plate between us, but it’s been lightening up lately.” From the coat’s right inside pocket, he pulled out a Palm Pilot, tapping with the stylus across the screen’s calendar.

“Hey, lookie here. The church is in the twenty-first century.”

When he got to Saturday, he looked up and smiled. “Got me a gen-u-ine cell phone, too.” He tapped the left coat pocket with the edge of the PDA. “Mom and Dad figure these sorts of Christmas gifts get more use than new socks.” He quickly scanned the calendar entry. “Yep, as long as it’s after 6:30, Saturday’s cool.”

“Don’t you have to drop that word now that you’re a priest?”